


Plan B

by crore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 09:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12932472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crore/pseuds/crore
Summary: “You can’t possibly expect me to believe-““It’s pretty damn believable.”“-That you’re tracking him as well.”“Are you doubting my talents?”She scoffed, letting herself off of him and he snootily runs his hands over his suit jacket as if he could brush away the unmistakable scent of her off him.“Does your organization know about this?”He rolled his eyes, “If they did, I think they would’ve told me.”ALTERNATIVELY - spies.





	Plan B

“You?” She says, aghast.

 

He was forced against the wall. Her arm a heavy weight against his neck and her knee jabbing into his hip and he tastes the familiar bright metallic blood on his tongue.

 

He let out a throaty chuckle, “Yes, me.” He sighs, “Now will you get off me?”

 

Instead she pushes against his throat harder and he rests his head against the cool marble wall; his eyes gazing upwards at the intricate designs on the ceiling.

 

“What are you doing here, _Malfoy_?”

 

“What do you think _Granger_?”

 

“You can’t possibly expect me to believe-“

 

“It’s pretty damn believable.”

 

“-That you’re tracking _him_ as well.”

 

“Are you _doubting_ my talents?”

 

She scoffed, letting herself off of him and he snootily runs his hands over his suit jacket as if he could brush away the unmistakable scent of _her_ off him. Her dark calculating eyes darted over his appearance. Her posture stiff as she observed the rather unfortunate situation she had to deal with.

 

“Does your organization know about this?”

 

He rolled his eyes, “If they did, I think they would’ve told me.”

 

* * *

 

“Of course we were aware of this predicament.”

 

“You _knew?”_

 

Snape sneered through the computer screen, “I am assuming this is not what you’d define as a surprise?”

 

“A _surprise_?” The incredulity was evident in his tone, “A _surprise_ would be a lovely new _car_ , a Lamborghini or, or maybe a Ferrari, not… _her.”_

 

“She is their best.”

 

He raised his brows, slightly insulted by the comment, as if that was a reasonable explanation to exactly _why_ he had to be paired up with her, possibly the most insufferable agent he could ever have had the misfortune of meeting. Is he not good enough?

 

“Are you _suggesting_ -“

 

Snape cut him off. “We have been following Greyback for almost five years, every trail we’ve followed has gone cold. This is the closest we’ve ever been to stopping the man.” He paused. “I’ve been discussing with McGonagall ever since Ms. Granger landed back in London. She has agreed to allow you both to work together to bring Greyback in.”

 

Draco tipped back a glass of whiskey.

 

* * *

 

 

He knocked on the door.

 

“Come in.”

 

She was applying her make up. The dark brown pencil hovering over her eyebrows and she was dressed in a white satin robe, the material wrapped loosely around her body with her hair put up in rolls and she hadn’t quite had her _aura_ of threatening completely developed, which was strangely appealing.

 

He cleared his throat.

 

“This is for you.”

 

He brought a plastic bag into her view. A dress.

 

She eyed the offending object. “I have my own.” She said briskly, turning back to face her reflection in the mirror.

 

Draco smirked. “I know.”

 

He watched as her eye gave a little twitch and she turned back to face him with a hand on her waist.

 

“Then why would I need another one?” She demanded.

 

“If I’m going to step into a room of men,” He drawled, “one of which, by the way, could potentially be a rather good lead, I need your so-called _charm_ and more importantly- _neckline,_ low enough to reach his standards.”

 

She huffed, “As well as _your_ standards I presume?”

 

“Precisely.” He grinned.

 

He moved back into the room, a sense of victory washing over his body and he thought he’d fix up another glass of whiskey before he headed out and-

 

“Malfoy?” She called from the bathroom, her voice echoing and travelling towards him just as he was about to turn the handle of the polished golden knob, “I’ve also brought something along for you.”

 

And indeed when he looked over, a black suit was laid as innocently as Hermione Granger could ever be, on the pristine white bed sheets.

 

He gritted his teeth.

 

“I’ll need you to look like you’d be capable of reaching _my standards._ ”

 

* * *

 

When she walks into the ballroom where the guests were scattered, mingling, the gigantic glass chandelier emits a soft yellow glow that makes her look even softer than she really was. With her long eyelashes and her dark red lips and the sloping curve of her collarbone and the false sense of vulnerability and Draco Malfoy realized that he didn’t really know what was so special about Hermione Granger until then.

 

When she waltzes over to him, he notices the long lingering looks of men in ironed out tuxedos or when she gracefully plucks a champagne glass from a passing waiter without taking her steely eyes off of him and he _almost_ gulps because he’s suddenly forgotten their plan until everything snaps back into place and he’s back to cool, casual Malfoy.

 

“Hello darling.”

 

He grasps her waist, with near predatory hunger and she gives him a threatening look that only he could interpret and between them he smiles knowingly and sharply before introducing her as his partner.

 

* * *

 

She kisses him.

 

She kisses him in a brightly lit hallway that they’re not supposed to be in and he can feel her nose bump hastily against his and the clash of their teeth and his hands don’t know what to do and where to put them until she grabs them and slides them up and against her body.

 

He reminds himself that this was merely a distraction technique when he finds himself brave enough to pepper kisses down the column of her throat, before they get shouted at by the guards for trespassing and before they pretend to drunkenly lean on each other and laugh as if there wasn’t a sudden change in the air or that they both knew, perhaps, that he tried too hard to impress her with his lips against hers.

 

When they eventually make it back into their room, she mutters something along the lines of, “I have to contact McGonagall on our recent findings.” And she briskly walks off brushing her hair behind her ear with scarlet cheeks and smudged lipstick. He was left with swollen lips and a buzzing mind.

 

‘ _Standard procedure._ ’ He tells himself.

  

* * *

 

 

She’s pacing around the room with her nimble fingers twisting around each other and there’s a scar on her shoulder and he can see the dried blood cracking against her copper skin and in the back of his mind he hears her rambling about the damned _plan_ and that _improvisation isn’t my strong suit_ and that _we could have almost died tonight if it wasn’t for your impulsive-your impulsive- YOU - and, and I told her! I told her it wasn’t going to work out but she didn’t listen to me did she? I just can’t believe-_

 

“Oh shut up Granger.”

 

She stopped in her tracks and her back snapped straight as if she’d been electrocuted and she turns to him with her eyes as wild as her hair.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“We both knew the plan wasn’t going to work once we’d stepped into the bloody place.” He sniffed. “And besides, we got more than what we’d expected and we’re still alive.”

 

“There was a _Plan B.”_

 

He shrugged.

 

* * *

 

 

When the gun moves to point at him, his neck is in a chokehold and everywhere is sticky, whether it was from the blood or sweat, he didn’t know. What he did know was that Hermione’s pointing the gun at him and his fingers are shaking and grabbing and digging into the skin of the man behind him.

 

He can see her mouth move slowly and steadily, the sort of restrained steadiness that causes her to almost vibrate with the secretly discreet _fury_ she held. He couldn’t hear anything except the sharp ringing buzz that perpetually ricocheted off his skull for the past minute and he’s gasping and gasping and almost _wishes_ Granger would get it over and done with.

 

In the end, he gets shot in the knee, staggering and wheezing in pain and anger because- _what the fuck_ \- and his ears are ringing louder than before, the man behind him slumps forward and Draco can feel the gooey _hot_ blood and he doesn’t know if it’s his or not.

 

It almost embarrasses Draco when he lurches forward and falls to his side before closing his eyes wearily. He thinks it’s Hermione’s hand that clutches his arm and her voice and her eyes and her freckles but he doesn’t really because he falls to unconsciousness moments later.

 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes up in the hotel room, his mouth is dry and he has a tongue that feels like sandpaper,  and there’s a millisecond of panic when he realises she isn’t there.

 

The windows are open and the white curtains are billowing softly and floating and it’s the lightest he’s ever felt since he’s joined the force and there’s a door that clicks shut and there are heels that clack on the floor and suddenly she’s here with some sort of ridiculous halo around her and he tells himself it’s because she’s behind the sun.

 

“You shot me.” He manages to gasp.

 

“Oh you’re awake.”

 

“You _shot_ me.”

 

“Yes, and I really do hope you’re feeling alright.”

 

“Alright? _Alright?_ You bloody shot me!”

 

She sighs and there’s a small clink when she puts the glass of water beside the bedside table, carefully within reach.

 

“And you’re alive.” She pauses, “I really don’t see the problem here.”

 

She opts to sit on the edge of the bed, just far enough to be out of reach and Draco tries to ignore the swoop in his stomach when she plays with the bandage on his knee.

 

“The _problem_? The _problem_ is-is that you shot me! Isn’t that enough Granger?”

 

She cleared her throat and almost guiltily avoids looking at Draco and said, “I _told you_. I’m not good at improvisation.”

 

He sniffs.

 

“Wasn’t there a _Plan B_?”

 

She rolls her eyes at him in response.

  
“We both know you’ve _never_ listened to those.”

 


End file.
